Chapter Fifteen: Frenzied Desperation

Celeana found herself back in the void.

As calming as the black space seemed, she could feel a sort of muted terror rising in her throat—the type of fear that was deeply rooted and was trying its best to stay veiled.

The shadows tried to be subtle in their mental attack, but the coordinator had already recognised these terrors; she knew that they were there. The blue-haired girl took a careful glance around—it looked as if she was alone in the darkness.

Yet, she felt as if she couldn't trust this pitch black earth surrounding her; as if something could jump out any moment and swallow her whole.

She was quite right—she could feel a pulsating beat of resounding life that surged through her metaphorical prison, and as much as she'd like to be surprised, she wasn't very dumbfounded when a figure rose through the sea of blackness and started towards her.

Though, it was incorrect to say that she wasn't scared—or shocked in any sense, for that matter—when her replica padded through the ebony-stained space, arriving to a stock-still halt right in front of her.

Amethyst eyes blinked at her, the blank expression having returned to the pale skin of her face. Then, the corners of her lips twitched slightly, stretching into the same empty shell of a smile that Celeana had seen her wear the previous time they had met.

The figure was the first to speak, taking a step forward and lifting her gaze to face the coordinator.

"If we're going to spend some time in here, it's going to be tiring if we do it standing," the clone commented, gesturing to the ground as she spoke. "Why don't we take a seat for now?"

The blue-haired girl felt her subconsciousness forcing her head into a nod, and the two of them seated themselves on the inky surface of the ground.

Raising a hand, the amber-eyed coordinator stretched her palm outwards, feeling for the mirror that had separated them the last time. Sure enough, the glasslike material was back in place, and she wouldn't be able to get through.

"Why am I here again?" Celeana uttered this in a soft tone—disguising her terror would do nothing. She had never been very brave, and she'd never been nonplussed to admit it to herself.

The teenager across her copied her action, pressing a palm onto the thin surface of the looking glass, but her venture was instead successful—she could feel the unmistakable texture of skin brushing against her own, but instead of the warmth that humans naturally seemed to radiate, she was different.

Her skin was cold—it wasn't even painful, just a lifeless, numbing temperature that chilled the coordinator all the way to her heart.

"Because you're weak," the figure drawled. "And I'm strong. You'll need my help to fight against whatever that other me is."

The knowing tone of her voice was frustrating—it was clear that she knew what was going on. However, her replica continued as if nothing had happened, her monotonous drone still devoid of life. "Weakness and strength are such tiring concepts," she admitted.

Celeana leant forward, not daring to take her hand off the separating barrier between them—both fearful and intrigued of her opposite's cunning voice. "What do you mean?"

"I really do despise defining words like these two," the figure spat—yet, these very words sounded manufactured, as if she'd been reading off a script. "Because of them, we have divisions and conflicts. We argue every day over who's weak and who's strong—what pathetic humans."

She dropped the contact, upsetting the girl with the sudden action, pushing the coordinator's hand off and instead taking hold of a lock of Celeana's hair and running her fingers through the cobalt-blue strands.

"I don't get it." The sentence rang a bell in her mind, and the rookie trainer realised that the sentence had almost replicated the first words her clone had spoke to her.

Tilting her head, the girl opposite her continued. "I mean, we're both the same, aren't we? Just look at us." At this, she gestured to the both of them with her free hand, and if it was possible, her stare had become even more downcast. "Right down to the same DNA."

"One could argue about our eye colours, but that doesn't determine our core aspects," she sighed. "However, if we're the same—if we're like twins, then tell me: Why are we different?"

Despite the answer forming in her mouth—a common, predictable sentence that the hospital had drilled into her through stories and fairytales—she forced herself to stay quiet.

"I'm strong, and you're weak." The purple-eyed teenager shook her head in mock disappointment. "What disgusting characterisations. If we're the same, then why would I be stronger than you? If all humans are, in general, the same—with the same potential and capacity for brilliance—why are some people weak and some people strong?"

Absentmindedly, Celeana stopped herself from shivering. "Why not, though? What's wrong if we're different?"

"What's wrong?" The figure shifted, and her grip tightened on the lock of hair she was holding. "Everything. We argue because we're different—all these conflicts are because we're different. Entire wars are started because of our differences."

"Arceus implemented this stupid hierarchy system," she continued. "One that defines us as different things, despite all having the same purpose—to exist as humans."

The girl then let go, retreating back through the mirror and distancing herself from the coordinator on the other side.

"I wish we were the same," she lamented. "I don't want to be stronger than you, and I'm sure that you don't want to be weaker than me. Maybe you wouldn't fear me if I didn't have this power, and perhaps I wouldn't have the need to treat you as a subject if you weren't vulnerable."

The cerulean-tressed female across her responded with a blank nod—she couldn't keep up with her counterpart's fancy lexicon, but she did get a general idea of what was going on—just as the last time, she was rambling on about some abstract, twisted idea of justice and equality.

"You're still too innocent," the replica mumbled in a quiet voice. "Well, I did say I would show my story to you—little by little. Are you ready for the second chapter?"

Before she could even take a breath to answer, her mind was escorted to the flashing land that she'd recognised on her last trip to the void.

Celeana sucked in a hurried gulp of air, recognising the ethereal Pokemon Arceus once again, this time standing still, his noble head lowered in a sort of deep regret.

When the majestic beast reared his head once more, his emerald optics were uncharacteristically dull, and he seemed to glide across the room—across the space and moving towards her. His mouth moved, as if wanting to say something, but no sound was even heard.

It was as if the words had evaporated in some sort of vacuum, and she was forced to try and interpret this silent, three-dimensional movie—and she wasn't very good at comprehending these sort of situations.

The Creator's eyes then widened, and it looked like Celeana was seeing a rare form of a god's emotion—desperation.

Then, as if he was an insolent child that had just lost something precious to him, the Normal-type ruler stepped forward—could it be considered a lunge?—and his mouth moved again, but the coordinator could now form a much clearer image of the phrase catching in Arceus' throat.

"Don't go."

That was all she'd managed to watch—the film was ending, and the screen was winking out on her, fading back to the normalcy of the black chasm that she'd been sitting in.

"Chapter two's over." Her replica was now standing up, towering over her sitting frame as she spoke. "You'll be taking a nap now; I guess I'll have to continue next time."

"A nap...?" The blue-haired girl sat bolt upright, her mind overcome with the memory of the last time this had happened.

But her body felt unnaturally heavy, and she could feel her lids drooping against her will—and, with great reluctance, she slept.

• • •

She glances at the silver-haired boy in front of her, scrutinising his opponent with a practised, suspicious eye, and stifles a cold laugh.

How weak, she thinks, how very weak. He makes himself out to be so strong, but in the end, he's just a fragile human with a fragile life.

It would be so easy to kill him, she muses—just one attack and he would be down.

But she won't do it—after all, he's someone that her Master—she spits this word, how ironic—is friends with, and the poor girl would certainly get suspicious—and worse, grieved—if she did end his life right here.

So, she spares the trainer.

• • •

"Passed out..."

The broken sentence forced Ryou to glance backwards, and his gaze widened at the unconscious girl on the ground, the small child standing over her with an apathetic expression.

His chest tightened—not because of his injury, but out of worry. Something wasn't right—the opponent they were facing was her, and the other Celeana had somehow managed to pass out at the same time.

Dammit, he cursed to himself. I thought I was good at analysing things—I thought that the one thing I was good at was figuring things out. If that's so, then why can't I understand this? Sure, I get bits and pieces of information, but that's not good enough.

"Just..." He paused, trying to think of a command on the spot. "Take care of her for now. I'll handle the other one."

Instead, he turned to face the Meowstic, regarding the creature with an even expression.

He'd gotten the idea that he knew the Psychic-type Pokemon in front of him, but he'd been so caught up in this hazy turn of events that he had nearly forgotten.

It was funny, though—he couldn't forget. He didn't treat this unusual phenomenon as an important part of his life, but retaining memories was a part of him that never went away.

Is a photographic memory a blessing or a curse?

Ignoring the question and filing it for a later date, he spoke, remembering to use the reserved, calm tone he had practiced and drilled into his head from the numerous years of using it.

"It's nice to see you again," he started. "Meowstic."

"Who are you?" the feline creature questioned, her portentous look morphing into an expression of near-genuine curiosity.

He smiled. "One of those forgettable subjects," he murmured, keeping his voice collected. "Just an eight-year old from your den who was so insignificant, you failed to remember him when he escaped without you knowing. It's fine, though—I didn't particularly care about the time I spent there."

Noticing the Meowstic's blank expression, he just pressed his eyes together, deciding to shift into an indication of flippant ignorance.

"Oh, right," he continued, acting as if he had just realised this fact. "This is an alternate timeline, isn't it? No wonder; maybe I wasn't kidnapped in this timeline."

"I'd like it if you kept quiet," Celeana's replica replied, stretching her lips into a wide smile that rivalled his. "People like you shouldn't defy me, don't you think?"

With that, she stretched out her arm, closing her palm into a tight fist and muttering some form of order under her breath.

The trainer instinctively leapt back as he felt the ground split open from under him, and it was a miracle that he was able to keep standing as the rocky terrain shifted and rumbled, as if in sync with the opposite female's mind.

He couldn't help but be shocked as a huge shadow rose up from the ground, taking the vague form of an ethereal creature and opening a pair of crimson eyes that glared at him from behind the trainer that had summoned it.

When colours and details had filled the beast's murky silhouette, Ryou felt his heartbeat quicken, almost doubling as the draconic creature spread its wings—appendages that were stained an inky black and studded with red spikes.

"Fool," the Giratina bellowed. "You cannot defeat such creatures, young child. Tremble at my feet now; you will be reduced to the helpless state only fitting for a piteous human like you."

The silver-haired teen choked, hands reaching to grab at his throat.

He felt as if his lungs were filling with crude oil—no, he couldn't breath at all. It felt as if a pair of rough, invisible hands were wrapping around his neck, clutching at him and cutting off all means of obtaining air.

Worse still, some unknown force was pinning him in place—not on the ground, he'd feel much safer that way, but he'd somehow been levitated into the air. His head pounded in a desperate complain for oxygen now, and his surroundings were starting to blur together in dizziness.

"Do you feel like dying now, foolish human?" The Legendary beast released the pressure that had held him in place, and it was all he could do to not wince as he hit the floor.

Celeana's clone just let out an innocent laugh as she walked over to the struggling boy. "I'm not going to stop with the suffocation, y'know."

Ryou couldn't reply—he was trying to conserve what little oxygen he had in the reserves of his body.

"I don't know, though—I can't let you die. She wouldn't be very happy."

The female trainer spoke once more, jabbing a sharp finger in Celeana's direction. "I guess I'll just have to settle for this, then."

His head was already spinning from the lack of air, but the sadistic teenager had the idea to make it even worse—the grip around his throat tightened, and he felt his vision starting to darken further.

The trainer could feel his hold on this world—real or not—slipping, and he only had enough strength left for one final afterthought.

Why?

• • •

"They've been defeated..."

Celeana's eyes slid open, glancing at the wasteland stretching out in front of her. Unrestrained horror rose up in her stomach—Ryou had been thrown in a corner, unconscious, and the unnamed child that they'd taken along was still in her catonic state.

She was completely alone against her other self.

"If you're me, why did you do this?" She glared at her replica—the girl who just grinned back like a maniac. "What did Ryou ever do?"

"I don't know who this boy is—not in this world, at least." The female shrugged, rolling her shoulders back in one fluid motion. "All I know is that you're pretty close to him, and I have to defeat you."

The coordinator bit her lip, trying to hold back an angered grunt as she checked on the fallen teenager, lifting his head and shifting him into what looked like a more comfortable sitting position.

He was alive—thank Arceus—but he seemed to be choking, sleeping face contorted in pain.

"Oh dear," the familiar voice spoke up—the one that had challenged her in the void she'd been in moments ago. "You can't beat her on your own, can you? Normally, I wouldn't want to do this. However, my true Master wouldn't like this to happen, so I guess I have no choice but to help."

She stiffened up. "I know it's not common for me to say this, but I need it. I need your help—whoever you are."

"You're that desperate?"

"Please don't play any games. I need your help. Please."

"Hmm...alright, then."

• • •

Wheeeeee. I managed to update twice in one week aHHhhhhHH //runs around flapping arms and screaming 

I still love her reflection more. Shut up, Celeana fans. Celeana's reflection is like this jaded old man who's questioning everything about life. I love it. Plus, I'm hurting the smol cinnamon roll more i cri ;w;

(Ye, Ryou was a kid from the Meowstic's den but it's honestly not an important part of the story)

Besides that, thank you SO MUCH for 3.2K reads and 439 votes! That's about a 400+ increase in reads :o My next goal is 454! :)

Critiques are most certainly welcome, and don't forget to read, vote and give your thoughts in the comments! Please be 100% honest!

~ nyxia ☆